A Christmas Visitor

by Thomas Kinkade

  When Miranda returned to the table, Sophie and Adam were done with their soup and had moved on to dessert, which consisted of fudgey looking brownies and a bowl of yellow pears.

  “Sounds like you won’t be home for dinner tonight,” Sophie said.

  “I’m going out with Greg. He’ll be by around six.” Miranda concentrated on her soup, and tried to resist checking Adam’s reaction.

  He was paging through the newspaper while eating a brownie and didn’t seem to have heard her. He seemed addicted to reading. He had explained that he hoped some random place, name or photo in the newspapers might jog his memory.

  “I’d better start on that order for Krista,” Miranda said. “Adam, do you mind finishing the painting on your own? I’ll work in here.”

  “I didn’t think you trusted me enough. I’m deeply honored.” He sounded serious, but the spark in his eyes told her he was teasing.

  “It’s washable paint. I can always fix the spots you mess up.”

  “Good point,” Adam said, laughing.

  Miranda went upstairs to change out of her painting clothes. She considered working in the cottage at the table she had set up there. The paint smell didn’t really bother her. But Adam’s proximity did.

  No, she would cart it all inside and work in the kitchen. The break from his company would be a good thing. So would her date with Greg tonight. She needed to return to reality. She was starting to get carried away by her attraction—carried along to some place she didn’t want to go.

  WHEN BEN WALKED INTO THE CLAM BOX, THE DINER was empty, as he expected it would be. It was half past three, the lull between lunch and dinner. He liked the place best at this time, when he could get a big table by the window all to himself and it was quiet enough to gather his thoughts.

  He had been up to Southport Hospital, visiting an elderly woman named Vera Plante, a member of his congregation, who was in the hospital for an upper respiratory infection. Vera was active for her age and lived in a large house outside of town. She took in boarders to make ends meet and did all the housework and cooking herself.

  One never lacked for conversation with Vera, not like some of the members of his flock. Vera would ask him questions then answer them herself. And even stranded in the hospital, she seemed to know everything about everyone in Cape Light. He didn’t have to supply much at all, just the occasional, “Is that so?” and “Really? I’d never heard that.…”

  He knew that Vera appreciated his visits. She only had one daughter who lived down in Connecticut. Most of her friends were her age, too old to drive the long distance to the hospital. He actually didn’t mind the routine much. But he had driven back to town through the snow with his head sore and his stomach rumbling empty.

  He looked around for a waitress and was surprised to see Lucy Bates, the owner’s wife, working behind the counter. She waved and smiled, signaling that she would be right over.

  Lucy had waited tables full-time at the diner for most of her married life until she decided to go back to school for a nursing degree. Almost a year ago, she had begun her clinical training in Southport Hospital, and Ben couldn’t help but be delighted at how it had changed her. The new Lucy seemed so much calmer and more confident.

  She walked over to the table and handed him a menu. “Hello, Reverend. Stopping in for a late lunch, or just coffee?”

  “Lunch. Finally. You know I don’t need that,” he added, waving away the menu. “I’ll have a grilled cheese with tomato…on whole wheat. Carolyn says I need more whole grains in my diet.”

  “Your wife is right. As wives usually are. Fries or side salad?” She peered down at him, suddenly looking every inch a nurse.

  “Is that a trick question?”

  She laughed at his reply. “How about I bring both?”

  “Good idea. And a coffee, decaf.”

  “Got it.” She jotted the last bit down.

  “By the way, what are you doing here today, Lucy? Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see you.”

  “Charlie was in a pinch and I’m on the night shift at the hospital this month, so I came in to help out.”

  “You’re going to work here all day then work all night at the hospital?” It sounded like Lucy. She could never say no when someone asked for help, especially to Charlie.

  “I’ll be okay. The floor I’m on is very quiet at night. I’m going to leave here soon and catch a cat nap before I head out. Let me put the order in and get your coffee, Reverend. I’ll be right back.”

  Ben watched her go then glanced out the window. The snowfall had tapered off just as he had entered town. Shopkeepers were out, shoveling patches of sidewalk in front of each doorway. The bright white dusting was just enough to coat rooftops and treetops and give the village a genuine Christmas look, he thought. The holidays finally seemed real. The town had put extra lights on the trees along Main Street and pine garlands and tiny white lights on the gazebo-style bandstand in the Village Green.

  Lucy arrived with a mug of coffee on a tray and set it down in front of him, the cup still steaming. “There you go.” Then she set the tray on the table and sat down across from him.

  Ben noticed that for once, she didn’t look over her shoulder to see if her husband was watching. She just did it. My, things had changed around here. Bravo, Lucy! But something had to be troubling her. Lucy rarely stole the time for a chat with him unless there was a problem.

  “I heard there’s a special statue over at the church,” she began. “A beautiful angel that looks like it’s from a museum. I’d like to come see it. Is the sanctuary open all day during the week?”

  Ben sipped his coffee, curious to see where this would lead. “Yes, of course. The sanctuary is open every day. You can come anytime.”

  She leaned closer, nearly whispering. “I heard that this statue, this angel, has special powers. Is that true?”

  Ben felt his mouthful of coffee stick in his throat. He put the cup down.

  “Who told you that, Lucy? Was Carl Tulley in here?”

  “Carl? He doesn’t come in here much. Just to rattle Charlie’s chain every once in a while. No…it wasn’t Carl.”

  Ben didn’t reply. He knew Carl and Charlie didn’t get along. He also knew that if he waited long enough, Lucy would tell him. She had a bit of Vera Plante in her, she couldn’t help herself.

  “It was Tucker,” she said.

  Ben should have guessed. Tucker was Carl’s brother and Charlie’s best friend from childhood.

  “Tucker told Charlie the story about Carl’s hand. Did that really happen?” Her bright blue eyes were wide and curious. Ben felt a knot in his stomach.

  Instead of answering her question he said, “What did Charlie think of the story?”

  “What do you think? He doesn’t believe a word of it, of course. Charlie says Carl must be cooking up some scheme, but he can’t figure out what it is. Charlie’s been telling everyone the story and warning them about Carl.”

  Ben wasn’t happy to hear that. First of all, it didn’t reflect well on the church, having Charlie Bates tell everyone that the church sexton was up to something. Not that he could defend Carl’s story without sounding as if he believed it. But he did believe Carl was sincere.

  “I’m sorry, Reverend. Did I talk out of line? I thought Carl had told you about his hand.”

  Ben looked up at Lucy. “Yes, he did tell me. You didn’t say anything wrong, Lucy. I’m glad I found out he was telling everyone in town.”

  Charlie appeared from the kitchen and set Ben’s order on the counter. “This is getting cold sitting back in the kitchen, Lucy. Why didn’t you come get it?”

  “I was talking to Reverend Ben.”

  She rose and tucked the tray under her arm, taking her time and not seeming the least bit intimidated by her husband. Ben was impressed. Lucy used to jump up like a rabbit when Charlie so much as looked at her.

  She set the sandwich in front of Ben. “If it’s cold, I’ll reheat it for you, Reverend.”


  “I’m sure it’s all right. I shouldn’t be eating a heavy lunch at this hour anyway.” Hearing that Carl’s story was spreading around town had definitely taken the edge off his appetite.

  Charlie leaned over the counter and smiled at him. “I heard that wild tale about Carl Tulley’s hand healing from touching a statue. Did you ever hear such a bogus piece of baloney in your life?”

  Could baloney actually be bogus? Wasn’t that a redundancy? Ben wondered vaguely.

  The easy way out would be to agree with Charlie, Ben knew, or at least, make some mealymouthed reply that didn’t commit one way or another. That was the way Charlie won most of his arguments, by intimidating his opponent before he even started.

  “Carl did tell me about his hand. I was the first one he told, in fact.” Ben sat back and looked at Charlie squarely. “I think he’s sincere, and I can’t imagine that he has any hidden motives.”

  “Oh, you think he’s sincere, do you? That would be the first time in his miserable life, then. That would be the miracle.” Charlie laughed at his own joke.

  “You have no right to say that, Charlie,” Ben replied, his voice even.

  Charlie shrugged. “Hey, it’s a free country, last I heard. I can say anything I like. Can’t say I’m surprised Carl conned you with that story, Reverend. With all due respect, folks in your line of work don’t have much knowledge of what a guy like Carl is capable of. Me, I’ve known Carl all my life, and he always has some scheme going. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts promising cures and charging people to touch the statue.”

  The last suggestion made Ben’s blood boil. He practically saw spots in front of his eyes.

  “How dare you even suggest such a thing? The statue is in the church sanctuary. Anyone is free to walk in, anytime, and look at it. Touch it even, if they must. It’s a plain wooden statue. There will be no schemes or charges or anything of the kind. Not by Carl or anyone else. I would appreciate it if you kept your speculations to yourself and stopped repeating the story altogether. The mere repetition of Carl’s claim gives it validity.”

  Lucy stepped back and turned to her husband. “You’re the one stirring up trouble about this story, Charlie, not Carl Tulley. You’re totally out of line, talking to Reverend Ben that way, and I want you to apologize. Right now.”

  Ben had known Lucy to sass Charlie back when he provoked her, usually under her breath. She would stick up for herself when he pushed too hard, but he had never heard her speak up so forcefully, demanding an apology no less.

  Charlie looked shocked. He glanced at Ben, then back to Lucy. Ben saw a fire in his eyes and expected an angry retort. But Lucy stared him down, and Ben saw Charlie’s defiance wilt. It reminded Ben of a lion tamer he had once seen at the circus when he was a boy, the look the tamer had given the big cats to heed his commands.

  Charlie sniffed and looked up at the ceiling. “Reverend, my wife says I was out of line, speaking to you so frankly. Sorry if I offended. I was just calling it the way I see it.”

  It wasn’t exactly an apology, but Ben knew it was the best he would get from Charlie.

  “I understand the way you see it, Charlie. I’m well aware of that.” Ben stared down at his cold sandwich. He pulled out some bills and tucked them under the side of his plate.

  Lucy watched him, and he saw her face fall. “Do you want me to wrap that up, Reverend? You hardly touched it.”

  Ben rose from his chair and slipped on his coat. “That’s okay, Lucy. I shouldn’t be eating such a big lunch this late in the day anyway. It will ruin my appetite for dinner.”

  He gently touched Lucy on the arm and gave her a smile as he started for the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “See you Sunday,” she promised.

  Ben glanced over at the counter, but Charlie was gone. Ben wasn’t surprised. Charlie Bates was a hit-and-run sort of guy. He had done his damage for the afternoon.

  Ben stalked back to the church, walking to the end of Main Street and then across the Village Green that bordered the harbor. A brisk wind blew off the water, raising the waves to white peaks. The path across the green hadn’t been shoveled yet, and his boots crunched on the freshly fallen snow. The green looked beautiful with the sun just starting to set over the harbor and the boughs of the tall trees, covered with snow. The village Christmas tree sparkled with colored lights and the large golden star on top.

  Ben’s thoughts fixed on the statue and the gossip racing around town. He didn’t blame Carl Tulley. He didn’t have the heart. The man had been genuinely moved by…something. Some out-of-the-ordinary experience, real or imagined. How could Ben even begin to discern? Carl had told his brother, Tucker, which was understandable. Aside from Ben, who else did he have in the world to tell? Of course Tucker told Charlie. Tucker stopped in the diner every day. With Charlie owning the diner and Tucker working in the police station, the two old friends knew and discussed pretty much everything that went on in town. This was a juicy tidbit.

  The old game of telephone. At least it hadn’t been exaggerated to outrageous proportions. But what should he do about it?

  Ben’s first impulse was to march into the sanctuary and take the statue down. Then he realized that wouldn’t help at all. It would just make people more curious. They would probably think there was something special about it for sure.

  The thing to do was leave it up. Let them see for themselves. It was a lovely statue. He could never deny that. But totally and unequivocally ordinary.

  * * *

  GREG ARRIVED AT THE ORCHARD PRECISELY AT SIX. Miranda heard him at the door and heard her grandmother greet him, sounding even more pleased than usual to see him.

  Greg was an engineer and extremely punctual. The problem was, he expected Miranda to be punctual, too. Clock watching just wasn’t in her nature. But she made an effort to please him.

  She scurried to finish dressing, holding up one set of earrings and then another, finally choosing a long dangling pair of her own design, a pair he had once complimented her on. She lifted her hair and dabbed some perfume on her neck then took one last look in the mirror.

  She was wearing a new dress she had bought for her audition, a wrap style, with long sleeves, a deep V-neckline, and a belt around her waist. The deep, blue green fabric brought out her sea-green eyes. Instead of her usual low pumps, she was wearing high black dress boots with heels. She thought they might make her taller than Greg, then decided it didn’t matter. If it bothered him, it was his problem.

  Miranda checked the time as she left the room. Five after six. Well, that wasn’t too bad.

  When she came downstairs she saw Adam, sitting in the living room, reading a book. Dixie lay by the side of his chair, like a loyal stone lion.

  Adam looked up immediately. His dark eyes lit up with approval at the sight of her, and Miranda felt herself nearly blush.

  Greg was facing away from her, talking to her grandmother, but he turned to her with a smile. “Miranda.” He gave her a quick hug and kissed her cheek. “You look gorgeous, as usual.”

  “Thank you.” Miranda felt slightly awkward talking to Greg in front of Adam. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “It’s nice to catch up with your grandmother…and to meet Adam.”

  “It’s mutual,” Adam assured him, then returned to his book.

  Sophie walked with them to the foyer and said good night. “Have a nice time,” she called before closing the door.

  Miranda couldn’t help but feel her grandmother was relieved to see her going off with Greg—and away from Adam.

  It wasn’t until they were in Greg’s car, on their way to Newburyport, that he spoke. “So, that was Adam. He looks different from the photo I saw in the newspaper.”

  “It wasn’t a very good likeness. But Sara did a good job on the article.”

  “It’s quite a story. It was generous of you and your grandmother to take him in. Most people wouldn’t go that far.”

  Miranda glanced at him. Something
in his tone didn’t match his approving words.

  “We just want to help him. I’m sure his memory will return very soon. Or someone will see the news articles and get in touch.”

  Greg was quiet for a moment. “What does he do all day?”

  “Well…it’s only been two days,” she pointed out. “He’s been doing work around the orchard, helping me paint. He insisted on it, to pay us back.”

  Greg nodded. “He sounds like an ethical guy.”

  “He is.” Miranda knew her reply sounded a bit more forceful than she meant it to be. “I mean, he seems to be.”

  “Yes, I guess it’s hard for you and your grandmother to be sure of much. I mean, he’s a stranger. One who doesn’t even remember his name. So he says, anyway.”

  Miranda was surprised by Greg’s insinuation. He was starting to sound like Tucker Tulley.

  “Do you think Adam is faking his memory loss?” she asked him point-blank. “Why would he do that?”

  “I’m not saying he is. I don’t know much about amnesia, though I do know it’s quite rare. In fact, it’s practically impossible to find someone with real global amnesia. I mean, you have better odds of being struck by lightning. I looked it up on the Internet,” he explained.

  Miranda wasn’t surprised. “It might be rare. But people do get struck by lightning and people do get amnesia.”

  “You seem to believe him. You have no doubt at all?”

  “No, I really don’t.” Miranda had been staring out the window. Now she turned to face Greg. “From what I can see, it’s very painful not to know who you are or where you belong. I think Adam is handling it as well as he can.”

  Greg seemed to shut down at her words. She saw his body tense as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead. “How long do you think he’ll stay with you?”

  “I’m not sure. Until someone claims him or he remembers his identity.”

  “That could take a long time.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m almost certain someone will come forward. He’ll be back to his normal life in no time, even if his memory doesn’t return.”